Day Forty: A daydream believer

Today (as in real-time today, not blarg-time today) I realized that I have left my adoring readers stranded with blarg-me in Monterey. I have left them (you, really) wondering: will Shar ever get home? Will she be forever in northern California, so close, yet so far from her final destination? What, oh what, has happened to Mike-n-SharTours 2008? So, without further ado, my friends, here is the chronicle of the last day of our trip.

Those of you who read Mike's blarg (and I hope for your sakes that that's everyone) knows the story of the morning of Day Forty. We woke up in Monterey exhausted on pretty much every level. We had been thinking of spending a few days with our dear old roomie in San Francisco, but now driving another hundred miles away from home seemed utterly ridiculous. Not when we were so close. So we showered, dug through the car for our least stinky clothes, and called Robyn. We promised to visit her this summer, after we'd had some time to readjust. Then we were off to breakfast.

We caravaned with Val & Whit and their friends to Whole Foods, planning to buy some pastries for breakfast and some sandwiches to take with us to the aquarium. Through happenstance, we ended up sitting alone in a booth while the rest of the birthday party sat at two tables a bit away. We didn't say much, just munched in the comfortable silence of meals on the road. And I'm not sure how we decided it, but when everyone was done eating and Whitney came over to fetch us, he said "Aquarium?" and we said "Yeah...about that..." And, giddy as the day we got married, we said our goodbyes and hopped back in the Blue Hornet. We could see the aquarium another day. We were going home.

Our giddiness was quickly replaced by the first carsickness of our forty day journey. We weren't in the mood for back-tracking forty miles to a major freeway, so we took small and winding roads to the 101, enjoying the scenery because it was California scenery. And, while being homesick and road-weary didn't make us the most objective of critics, you can't argue with the azure sheen of the Pacific on a clear Sunday afternoon. You just can't. And as we headed back home on the same freeway we'd used to drive away, on Day One of the trip a lifetime ago, I thought about what had made me chortle that first day. Mike had said: "Why would anyone even try and argue that anything's better than California?" I had laughed then, and I laughed again now, because he was right. Nothing that we'd seen, gorgeous and mind-blowingly amazing as our trip had been, nothing we'd seen in all those days of driving came close to being as flat out amazing as our home state.

We listened to "Wagon Wheel" one more time, and we crossed the Long Beach city limit halfway through the last chorus. Yeah, and I cried like a baby.

Final tally: 11,136.2 miles of American road.

Songs: Stevie Wonder's Greatest Hits, Graduation (Kanye West), Incognita (Random Voices), "Wagon Wheel" by Old Crow Medicine Show, and the there's-nothing-like-it-in-the-whole-USA click of our key in our lock. Home.

Ask about it: "An inconvenient poop."

Hear us both talking about our trip on Episode 31 of SportsNight, available for download at sportsnight.podomatic.com. Read Mike's journey log at LBPostSports.com. And, of course, his regular blarg is still spittin' out goodies at astoriedyear.blogspot.com. Mike is great.

Day Thirty-Nine: Right (approximately) back where we started from

They say a good night's sleep heals all wounds. Actually, maybe that's not what they say. They say something, and it has to do with all wounds getting healed. I think I saw it in an Aloe Vera commercial. In any case, I woke up the morning of Day Thirty-Nine feeling a lot better. A lot better, and also really, really ready to get going.

First stop was a awesome and a random one. We had originally planned on getting home via a northern route through northern Utah. But when we heard that my dad was going to be in Las Vegas for his (whopping) 55th high school reunion, we thought to ourselves: "Hey! You know what's better than Utah?" So, in addition to the hundreds of California license plates in the parking lots and the streets and other evidence of our alarming proximity to home, we got to breakfast with Papa Higa at the California Hotel. Off the strip in the "Downtown" area, the California Hotel is the go-to stop for folks from Hawaii. The familiar and friendly faces of a casino full of people who looked like they could be my aunties and uncles was a welcome contrast to the patrons who had alarmed me so the night before. And a Hawaiian clientele meant that I could be assured that there would be rice on the buffet. Plus, my Papa-san is freaking rad, so, as he would say, the whole breakfast experience pretty much "hit the spot."

Of course, when we pulled out of the parking garage, we were heading back on the road, and that was another thing altogether.

Day Thirty-Nine was a day of milestones and victories, but it was also one of the more difficult ones of the trip, kinda all for the same reasons. Day Thirty-Nine was the day that we finally, finally, after more than five weeks of driving, crossed that lovely California state line. And it was also the first day since heading westward in Vermont that we made a very conscious decision to drive away from home. We were having dinner and other birthday festivities in Monterey with our unnecessarily wonderful friend Val, her equally awesome boyfriend Whitney, and an assortment of their beautiful friends, including our very own Angie. It was certainly something fun and exciting to look forward to, but it also meant getting to within an hour and a half of home and then turning right and driving for six hours. I think I would've been okay, but there was a billboard right around the state line advertising the local pizza place just down the street from my parents' house, to which I would often walk for lunch on summer days. I admit I teared up a bit, and then we kept on keeping on.

We arrived in Monterey to find our friends relaxin' pool side, giving that gorgeous California sun a good ol' chlorine washing. I'm afraid we may have made a poor impression on those who didn't know us already, as we were more than a little overwhelmed by the circumstances. But we had a blast anyway, exhausted and road-weary as we were, and we were glad to be back with California folk, on California soil, even if it was a little north of home. What does 365 miles really mean, in the grand scheme of things?

We listened to: "California Girls" by The Beach Boys, "California Love" by 2Pac, Californication (Red Hot Chili Peppers), "Winding Road" by Bonnie Summerville, "More Bounce in California" by Soul Kid #1, and the sweet sounds of K-EARTH 101.1 gently rocking us into a Motown Weekend.

Mystery Words: "That's not even a thermometer."

Mike's all caught up!: astoriedyear.blogspot.com

Day Thirty-Eight: If you've ever been a lady to begin with

Day Thirty-Eight was probably one of the hardest of the trip. We woke up in Cassie's house, dragging our feet as we packed and prepared to leave the comfort of a place we could call "home" for the long, long road ahead. We had an eleven hour drive ahead of us, and at the end of it we would be in our own time zone, just a three hour drive from Long Beach. It was almost incomprehensible. As I packed up the car, I made BFFs with an old lady out for her early morning walk. "Going on a trip?" she asked. "Nope," I said. "We're going home." She'd noticed our California license plate, and she confided that her children had grown up in Whittier. I wanted to explain to her that it wasn't what she thought: we weren't a young couple a two-days 'drive from home, staying with a friend in Denver for a few days and then heading back to our homes, just twenty minutes south on the 605 from where she had grandchildren. It wasn't like that at all. But how could I possibly explain how ludicrous it was, how crazy we felt, how we were positive that the Rockies in the distance were an illusion, that we'd be driving forever and never cross them, never traverse those last few inches between us and the jagged line our atlas assured us was the Pacific Coast? I smiled and she wished us luck, and then she walked on.

The Rockies weren't impossible after all. They were, in fact, gorgeous, and the snow on the ground and flurries in the air reminded us of the eleven hour drive we'd taken just one country's-width due north, when we were young and enthusiastic. When we came down out of the mountains it was almost immediately swelteringly hot, and the 60° temperature shift may have contributed significantly to the way the rest of the day played out.

Ryan "Just Call Me a Cow, Cuz I'm Always Tippin" Poohausen earned his nickname by giving us some solid advice on how to stay in Vegas. On his recommend, I booked a room at the Tropicana, which was a great location and great value for a very reasonable price. What we didn't realize was the effect Vegas on a Friday evening would have on us after a day's worth of driving in almost complete solitude. There were way too many people, they were way too loud and way too drunk and they were standing way, way too close to me. We played the slots for a while (and we would've won 49¢ if we'd quit while we were ahead), then got a few minutes into exploring The Strip before it was just too much for me, and we retreated to our room where we collapsed exhausted and overstimulated. Money, baby.

We listened to: Greatest Hits (Nirvana), What's the Story? (Oasis), and our official return to the West as we cheered with a hundred Lakers fans for the close of game 6.

Mystery Words: "Let me refill your water."

Mike?: astoriedyear.blogspot.com

Day Thirty Seven: The skies were blue and hazy...

We tried to sleep in on Day Thirty-Seven. Really, we did. We had breakfast plans with Cassie, but on a "whenever you get up" sort of way. And, after a hellishly long drive the day before, we were expecting to be pushing that deadline for all it was worth. Instead, I woke up at 9 (which was, of course, a more respectable 10 am in St. Louis), unable to force myself back to sleep. Which was just as well, because we had an awesome day ahead.

Breakfasting at a local diner (we were duly warned that the place was infested with old people), we were startled to see hail plummeting from a previously clear sky onto the open patio. Evidently, this drastic weather change isn't atypical for Denver. The previous week it had vacillated from mid-seventies to snow to rain within days. It's just mountain weather, I know, but it felt like seeing our whole trip in fast forward: the snowstorms in Washington and Minnesota, the heavy heat of the South, the earth-shaking thunderstorms of St. Louis, and on and on and on. By the time we were finished eating, the sun was back out and the sky was cloudless.

Cassie left for work (teaching music to 3 year olds, thank you very much) and Mike and I left for our lazy tool-around of Denver. It was Thursday and, since we didn't want to stop in Kansas (for any reason) the day before, our first step was to Mile High for comics. Mile High? More like Square-Mile In Area! More like Mile-oh-My It's Big! We were utterly dazzled, and we wandered through row after row of trade paperbacks, memorabilia, shirts, and posters with mouths hanging open. Hopefully Janet Pym didn't fly in.

From there, we drove to downtown Denver, to the site of what had been, four years ago, the site of my favorite dinner ever. I'm pretty sure the place has changed its name, but the idea is the same: a buffet of raw meat and veggies with a giant wok at the end. It's Mongolian BBQ at its best, and it's only (I think) in Denver. As we walked in the door we saw on one of the many TVs tuned to news channels that California courts had just overturned the ban on gay marriage in the state. We can't wait to get home and celebrate... we've never been prouder to be Californians.

A delicious dinner with our lovely hostess at a small and slightly awkward Thai place, and then we were eating Klondike bars in Cassie's kitchen, staying up way too late talking about old friends, real estate prices, and Cameron Diaz.

Today we listened to: Cassie and me singing songs from "Ragtime: The Musical" and remembering 8th grade.

Mystery words: "So... you know about what happened, right?"

Mike, Mike, Mike: astoriedyear.blogspot.com

Day Thirty-Six: Gonna have ourselves a time

Day Thirty-Six started out cool and misty in St. Louis. Mike was angelic and woke up first, so I could steal an extra few minutes cuddled under the covers, dreaming of mornings spent sleeping late in our own bed, with suitcases stored away in the garage and both cars parked outside our apartment. I'll admit I've taken to drooling over Google Streetview, which has extended to our street. But I digress. The point is, we woke up this morning in St. Louis. As I type this now, we're in the basement of the lovely Cassie B.'s home in Denver, CO. Over twelve hours of driving, and we're now just a time zone away from good ol California.

If you're wondering what it's like to drive from St. Louis to Denver, let me just say this: it's long. It's really long. About a half hour after pulling off the curb in front of Holly's house Mike looked at me and said, "Well, I guess we'd better have a stimulating conversation." We tried it for a while, with me asking "If you could choose..." and "What one thing..." questions that quickly (i.e. in an hour) disintegrated into silliness as we discussed which historical defensive line would have the best chance of sacking Batman. Acknowledging, of course, that no one would actually be able to. Two hours down, ten to go.

The crawl across Kansas and Missouri was just like you've heard. Flat, flat lands with no end in sight. Sometimes place names were amusing, but there just were too few places. We listened to the last 3 hours of The Great Gatsby and reminisced about great English teachers we'd had. Denver was only a half page of the atlas away, but it's those last three hundred miles that kill you. And, when an early evening haze is obscuring the Rockies, you begin to doubt whether Denver wasn't all just an elaborate hoax, whether there's any end at all to the journey.

There was, and it was in the form of a ridiculously awesome dinner at Casa Bonita, which is just as amazing as Cartman made it out to be. A man dressed as a gorilla juggled and pushed a garishly dressed woman off a cliff into a pool below. There was a piñata. There was a fire diver. All of this cleverly distracted from the way below mediocre Mexican food (think nacho cheese enchilada). Our spirits lifted, we drove to Cassie's house in the ever-so-familiar sounding suburb called "Lakewood."

Cassie is, though I hadn't seen her since ninth grade, just as great as I'd remembered her to be. We got to meet her lovely fiance, then set up shop in her basement, where we watched the basketball game and trundled to an early sleep with a gorgeous kitty snuggled between us. Ah. I could get used to this.

We listened to: The Great Gatsby, The Pride is Back (David Cross), The Clarence Greenwood Recordings (Citizen Cope), Songs from an American Movie, pt. 1 (Everclear), and a roving mariachi band singing a birthday song to at least a third of the hundreds of tables at the Beautiful House.

Mystery words: "The Cathedral of the Plains"

Mike is more daily than I: astoriedyear.blogspot.com

Day Thirty-Five: One More Day

Day Thirty-Five started out loudly, with house-shaking thunder jolting me awake at around seven. The rain was torrential, and lightning flashed distantly, then not so distantly. I shivered under the blankets and was grateful for the cozy weight of Ricky, the handsome cat, at the bed's foot. But at nine I forced myself out of bed, exhausted though I was, because we had to get back on the road.

Hours later, we were still at Holly's, having whiled away the morning enjoying our first ability to both waste time online simultaneously. Around eleven, Mike finally decided to go down to the car for clean clothes, so we could start our long and dismal journey across Missouri and Kansas, away from the warmth and comfort of St. Louis. He had almost made it to the door of our room before he proposed that, instead of walking all the way down the stairs, we stay instead an extra day. The benefits to this plan were many: we could spend another day with Aunt Holly, relax and enjoy the city for a while, and save ourselves the horror of spending a night in Kansas. So it was decided and Mike was able to avoid a clean shirt for another few hours.

We walked down to Delmar Circle, which is a really cool little district that holds the charm I think we all hope for every time we visit Second Street in Long Beach. We ate a leisurely lunch at a restaurant that serves noodles of different variety (I had stir-fried udon, Mike had mac & cheese), then hopped down a few more stores to Star Clipper, which was nice enough to supply us with all of the comics we'd missed since leaving DC. The thunderstorm of earlier this morning had turned into a beautiful, sunny day, and yes, we were glad to be enjoying it at less than 65 mph.

No "hooky from hours of driving" day is complete without a trip to the zoo, so Mike and I hopped over to the St. Louis Zoo, proclaimed (by a banner at its entrance) to be the #1 zoo in America. We aren't in a position to disagree, but our position may be biased: we spent our entire hour there surrounded by real live DINOS!!!!!!! They roared at us, clawed the air around us, and even spat neurotoxins at us. And all this was even before we went into the motion simulator, 3-D documentary of the trip to (and subsequent escape from) Dino Island.

We ended the day with delicious Mexican food (I know, we were surprised too) with Holly, basketball with the cats, and the realization that our awesome day was photodocumented entirely on a camera for which we have no USB cord. Tomorrow we make up time by driving for 12 hours. I'd say: utterly worth it.

Today we listened to: purrs from Ricky and stony silence from the other two cats, and the unmistakable roar of a T-Rex about to make you regret the day you ever set foot on Dinosaur Island.

Mystery words: "Spa or kayak?"

Mike!: astoriedyear.blogspot.com

Days Early- to Mid-Thirties: Why I could never have a storied year

So, I'm way behind on my daily blargs, as I'm assuming the few of you (Mike) who checks this URL compulsively several times before lunch have noticed. Partly this is because my good ol' lappy has been out of commission since her power cord lost the ability to conduct "the juice" from the wall socket to the battery. I blame this on Conor, and he, I'm sure, knows why. Rather than try to write twice a day in a Sisyphusian struggle to catch up, here is a quick overview of the days leading up to today (Day Thirty-Four) and a hearty entreaty for you to read Mike's blog for the rest of the story.

Day Thirty-One; Niagara Falls proves to be powerfully awesome, despite our fears that it will be powerfully underwhelming. This is in stark contrast to other large American tourist attraction which shall remain anonymous for the sake of preserving the dignity of the four huge-headed presidents for whom said attraction may hold special significance. We also visit the Buffalo campus of the University of New York where Mike goes into that Joyce-induced drooling trance that only Laurel has had the pleasure of seeing in person.
Day Thirty-Two: We decide to skip Cleveland, much to Drew Carey's disappointment, trading it for five hours at the Pro Football Hall of Fame in Canton, OH. This proves to be an excellent choice, and we spend our half day hob-nobbing with the bronze-encrusted greats. I wish I had brought my Jeffy G jersey, but as we test-drive next season's Madden game, I quarterback scramble him into the endzone, so all is as it should be.

Day Thirty-Three: We drive into Indianapolis and spend a couple hours finding some important Vonnegut sites that will, in a few years (at most), be stops on a pilgrimage route and home to societies and museums. For now, it took a lot of Googling to find them, and we seemed to be the only ones to have been looking. I want to write more about this later, so hopefully I'll get a chance. Suffice it to say, I'm glad we did it. We spend the night with Mike's famously awesome aunt in St. Louis.

Day Thirty-Four: We take a day trip to Hannibal, MO, which is Twain country, in case you haven't noticed. Their vending machines have his face on them, every business in Historic Downtown is named after his characters, and there is the constant threat of living history actors. We hop on the Mark Twain Riverboat, which takes us on an hour-long tour down the Mississippi, then grab some delicious treats at Becky Thatcher's Ice Cream Parlor. It's all fun and games until my camera falls out of my lap, Mike gets a speeding ticket, and we get lost on the way back to Holly's house. But we have an amazing dinner, frozen custard for dessert, and Holly even loaned us a handsome kitty to sit on the foot of our bed. What a lady.

We listened to: Joshua Tree (U2), Whatever & Ever Amen (Ben Folds Five), The Great Gatsby, Songs for Tomorrow Morning (The Bobs), The Essential Vonnegut Interviews, Good News for People Who Love Bad News (Modest Mouse), The Essential Mark Twain, Roll On (The Living End) and Mike and me singing the Monday Night Football theme all the way to and from Canton.

Mystery words: "Niagara Falls: a mob front?" Although it's not really a mystery, because the answer is yes.

Mike turns his drools into pretty words: astoriedyear.blogspot.com

Day Thirty: Back on the mooove.

Our first day back on the road after a refreshing multiple-day oasis, Day Thirty was exciting and rejuvenating even as it was blearily sad to put a place with family and familiarity into our rearview mirror. We started out the day with a delicious breakfast at Seven Stars Bakery, a delightful Providence favorite stocked with locally roasted coffee and freshly crafted artisan pastries. Stephen purchased two sourdough baguettes for our trip (something which, I'd like to point out, my mother once refused to do, even though I was starving to death in a dream I once had). We had put 6,749 miles on ol' Blue Hornet since March 31st, which meant we had a third thing to look forward to that day: hitting seven thousand miles since we first turned left on Los Coyotes Diagonal.

The other two items on our list for Day Thirty? Well, the first proved to be a milestone in itself, because it was where Mike and I learned just how much ice cream was, you know, probably enough for today. We drove through Massachusetts, cut through New Hampshire, and found ourselves in Waterbury, Vermont just a few minutes before the start of the half-hourly tour of the Ben & Jerry's factory. Oh, and it was much awesomer than you might think. The only damper on the fantastic was a mother who could not keep her three-year-old from bashing into everything and everyone around, and who could not keep his poopy pants from wafting through the observation deck and mingling forever in association with Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough and Karamel Sutra. But it was nothing a few samples of Strawberry Cheesecake couldn't fix. And, when you throw in a couple scoops of our favorite flavors from the adjoining shop and a jaunt through the third- or fourth-coolest graveyard we've seen so far, it was all in all pretty darn cool. Hehe.

As we left Ben & Jerry's, we achieved our second objective for the day, one that, I'll admit, got us a little emotional. We started our long southwest diagonal towards home. Driving through the gorgeousness of Vermont, it was hard to take road pictures because the setting sun was illuminating all the bug splatters on the windshield for the first time in a really, really long time. And, when we unpacked our bags in the parking lot of our hotel in Rome, NY, we imagined that maybe we could kinda sorta see the Pacific Coast in the horizon. Of course, this was just the lingering effects of that famous Vermont sugar high, but we had a bounce in our steps nonetheless. It's like Ryan Poohausen's ringtone says: "California, here we come!"

We heard with our ears: "Wagon Wheel" (twice), The Cool (Lupe Fiasco), The Great Gatsby, Death to the Pixies (Pixies), and the assertion, from our B&J's tour guide, that milk stools have only three legs because AND I QUOTE: "Someone stole the udder."

Mystery words: "Horse and Buggy Xing"

Mike is hungry for ice cream again at: astoriedyear.blogspot.com

Days Twenty-Six thru -Nine: Home (far) away from home

Me: So... is this house haunted?
Stephen: No.

I realized as we drove towards the interstate on Day Thirty that it had been years since my big brother and I had slept under the same roof. It's one of those landmarks that comes and goes unnoticed: I don't remember my last day sleeping at my parent's house. I don't remember the last time Stephen coming home for school vacation meant me waking up to the sounds of oddly shaped stringed instruments humming through the wall between our rooms. I'd knock on his door and he'd be standing with his lute or banjo or guitar in his arms, branches borrowed from the front yard covering his ceiling, random bits of art cluttering shelves overstuffed with books that, after years of coming home in May and going elsewhere in August, he'd had to leave behind. There would be a kitty looking up at me from the bed, unsure of whether she was enjoying the music, but definitely enjoying the attention. For countless years, these were my summer mornings. Afternoons were for walking for food or for books. Evenings were spent singing and chatting until we couldn't stay up any longer. When we'd begun planning this trip, I hadn't realized how much a half-week in Providence was going to mean to me.

Stephen lives with eleven other college students in Finlandia, a co-op a few blocks from Brown University and the Rhode island School of Design. The residents are friendly and delightfully odd, and they clearly think my big bro is as cool as I do. Mike and I slept in a little guest room on the top floor, under a blanket that, through some cosmic coincidence, had the same slightly sinister print of Kermit the Frog strumming a guitar as Stephen used to have on his curtains at home. Downstairs, the walls of the kitchen were covered with amusing and incriminating quotes from over two decades' worth of Findy residents. On our first night, a fellow offered us some home-brewed ginger beer. We spent a couple hours late one night discussing odd finger formations and the ability to clap really, really fast. It was pretty much awesome.

Mike gives a good day-by-day for what we did while we were in Providence. Let me add to his account by saying that, between eating well, sleeping plenty, meeting new people, exploring a beautiful little city, and lunching in Boston with the delightful Tina, these were some of my very favorite days of the road trip. Plus, I got to see my brother perform in concert for the first time in four years. As I watched him with his medieval music group, Resonanda, as they blew the socks (and Birkenstocks) off the audience that had overflowed the mausoleum in which they sang, I will admit my eyes watered a bit with actual human emotion. I was so glad to be exactly where I was, sitting next to my hubby, thousands of miles from home, watching my big brother be freaking amazing.

We listened to: Mitch All Together (Mitch Hedberg), Cantigas de Santa Maria as performed live, in concert, by Resonanda, and the unique cacophony of five people trying simultaneously to demonstrate their fastest clapping.

Mystery words: "the Hitler of saints" and "Amasa Sprague"

Mike's blarging again: astoriedyear.blogspot.com

Day Twenty-Six: So many Providence puns...

The first thing I noticed when I woke up on Day Twenty-Six was that the breakfast we'd ordered the night before as a congratulations for Mike (aka "I just wrote 366 stories in 366 days") was not, in fact, waiting for us outside our door. On the floor in its stead was our copy of the (absurdly high) charges for the room. Not nearly as delicious as an English muffin would have been, but we ate it anyway. On principle.

Our trip up to Providence was quick and expensive: the total cost of tolls on roads and bridges was over $20. That's over twenty dollars for about 4 hours of driving. I hope New York, New Jersey and Connecticut understand that they just robbed us of 3 matinee showings of Iron Man.

Two excessively geeky detours (a stop to see the Long Island area where The Great Gatsby was set and a drive through Stamford, CT, the site of the kick-off for Marvel's Civil War comics series) and we were in Providence. A mere half hour of driving haphazardly lost through the one-ways and diagonals of this tiny capital city, and then we were pulling in to Finlandia Co-op. And it's got its decidedly co-op-ish feel, but it's friendly and there's a guest room on the top floor. Not to mention a tea house on the corner where Mike and I sat for a few hours today solving the world's problems with greater and greater efficiency as we grew more caffeinated. And not to mention my big brother downstairs. It's going to be an awesome next few days.

Today we listened to: the very last words of On the Road, and a string quartet version of Maroon 5's "Secret" playing amidst equally random selections from the speakers in a cafe.

Mystery words: "Turn right at the blinking hand."

Mike's taking a break today. But catch up & comment on some of the 366 stories you may have missed: astoriedyear.blogspot.com (there's some real goodies in March)

Day Twenty-Five: Page 148

So it's the end of Day Twenty-Five, and we're sitting in a nice hotel, in a beautiful king-sized bed, between beautiful king-quality sheets. There is a little balcony to our room that opens out to the inner courtyard of the hotel where, even now at midnight, there are the happy splashes of handsome young people in an expansive pool. Things here are nice. How nice? Well, sure as hell not nice enough for the room to cost twice as much as our room last night, that's for sure. But we're paying for location and, insanely, our hotel is located right across the bridge from Manhattan.

I happened to flip open the front cover of our trusty road atlas today to that helpful map that tells you on which page to find the roads and cities of which state. For some reason, that's when it really hit me: we are a full country away from home right now. What the heck are we doing here?

I haven't really had cause to look at that front cover page guide, because we haven't been jumping from state to state, we've been crawling mile by mile to the end of pages and then on to the next page. Most days I track our little car onto three pages (or more, depending on our trajectory). And now, suddenly, we've arrived in Newark, New Jersey. We're in that famous metropolitan area that's not Los Angeles, and we earned our way here bit by bit. It's kinda incredible, and I'm torn between really really wanting to be back on a familiar page and really really wanting to keep going, to see what happens when we drive off the end of the last page in the book and don't look back.

Today we saw a couple hours' worth of Philadelphia, which we soon learned isn't the way it's meant to be seen. Everything in Independence Hall National Historical Park either required a ticket (which were sold out), a ridiculous fee, or a place in a line wrapping around the building. Maybe it would've worked for us under different circumstances, but as two weary travelers who had just spent three days cavorting around DC's abundant and free and very awesome museums, we weren't buying it. We snapped some pix through some windows, took in some of the free sights, and got back in our car with our eyes set on the New Jersey Turnpike. (We've all come to look for America...)
Tomorrow, we see my awesome big brother and enjoy frustratingly chilly New England from the comfort of his co-op for a few days. Then we start the long and detour-ridden trip homeward. Page 52, here we come!!

Today we listened to: On the Road, The Essential Simon and Garfunkel (with a double-play for "America"), The Grey Album (Jay-Z/The Beatles), and the theme from Rocky playing in our heads as we ran up the stairs to the Philadelphia Museum of Art. Fo reals.

Words to mystery by: "And one of us should hold her hand in case there's violence."

Mike! Read his thoughts on the trip & congratulate him on his 366th story in 366 days!!!: astoriedyear.blogspot.com

Day Twenty-Four: Well-fed, well-rested, and a little tanner.

Okay. Okay. Pheeeeeeeew. It's Day Twenty-Four, and I actually have enough energy to move my fingers across my keyboard. We're leaving DC tomorrow morning, and, after three full days here, I think I am finally prepared to give the thumbs up to our nation's capital.

Wednesday & Thursday mornings, we took the Metro train from our hotel in Rockville, MD into downtown DC. We learned, from a series of very intense and very brow-furrowing internet research sessions, that only raving lunatics actually stay in the city. Hotels are either super divey or super pricey, most all of them charge for parking, and traffic in and out within two hours of "rush hour" is crazy. So we opted instead to stay a little further away and ride the half hour each way.

When we arrived in our downtown station, we were quickly swept into the herd of people swarming up the comically tall escalators and onto the streets. With this herd we were pushed onto the street and were sometimes several monuments down before we even felt solid ground under our footsies. No matter how much we planned and how painstakingly we shaved "must do"s from our lists, there were always far too many things to do each day. So we rushed from place to place, our happy hipping and hopping becoming wailing limps of despair by the time the Smithsonians closed at 5:30.

Ah, but friends, it was worth it. I can say that now, after a day in sandals and a tank top, back in pajamas by 8 and happy to have seen the Atlanta Hawks take the Celtics to Game 7. I can say that because our last day in DC was the closest we could come to relaxing while still seeing something with the first name "National." (Surname "Zoo" if you're curious).

If you've been to Washington, you know how much awesome there is in every category. We got to see a Gutenberg Bible, a Shakespeare Folio, and the Supreme Court in the span of two hours. We were breathless at the Lincoln Memorial and solemn at Arlington, and then we were eyeing dinos at the Natural History Museum. So. Rather than try and enumerate all DC has to offer (which is much more than we were able to see anyway), here are some things that stick out (for better or worse), in no particular order.

* The Smithsonian. Yesh, I know. It's the first thing and already I'm cheating. The Smithsonian Institute is responsible for almost all of the non-governmental buildings in DC. That runs the gamut from the Natural History Museum (which, as previously mentioned, has dinos) to the National Zoo (which has naked mole rats) to the National Portrait Gallery (which just got one of Vonnegut's self-portraits). Mike and I are nerds, so the museums totally blew our socks off.

* Qdoba. If you've ever eaten at Chipotle, you may walk into this "Mexican" "restaurant" and think you might have found a good match. You will be wrong, and you will regret it. It is far better to go hungry.

* The Shakespeare Theater Company. We say Antony and Cleopatra last night, and it was amazing. A tip for travelers: most other patrons of this theater will be dressed in suits and dresses. If you arrive in Converse and road-dirty jeans, you may be looked at askance. But that's okay, because you don't need their approval anyway. They're eating veal paté from the snack cart in the lobby, so what do they know?

* Caterpillars. I don't know what their deal is, but they seem to think crossing the sidewalk is a safe and fun activity. They are wrong, and you can tell this because the pavement is littered with their failed experiments. If you don't want to be the enforcer of natural selection, for God's sake watch your step.

* Of course, I lied about the whole "no particular order" thing. By leaps and bounds the #1 most awesome thing about DC was Freakin Iron Man, which we saw today in Uptown in between being lost on the way to the National Cathedral and finding the giant pandas. To be fair, if you play the classic comic geek's game, Iron Man would definitely beat every other Washington DC attraction in a fight. Yeah, bear sloth. I'm talking to you. Ben Franklin statue outside the Old Post Office, you're next.

There's obviously a hundred more amazing things about DC, and I'd love to talk about them when we get home. But all of a sudden it's one o'clock in the morning and we've got to pack the car back up in the morning. Oh, that freeway's a-callin' our names!

Today we listened to: the sweet, sweet sounds kicking off the greatest summer movie geek-fest of all time: "Back in Black" by AC/DC.

Mystery words: "They look like chicken wings."

Mike's almost done. Show him some love: astoriedyear.blogspot.com

Day Twenty-Three: *snore*

It's quite late (Eastern Standard Time), and Day Twenty-Three has been over for 2 hours.  I'm going to bed and will return to blarg about it soon.  Apologies!